


even if things get heavy, we’ll all float on okay

by justsomejerk



Series: Let Alex Manes Bang the Dorky Pocket-Sized Historian 2k20 (aka Alex + Forrest) [3]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Deserves Nice Things, Alex's PTSD, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Divergent Post 2x07, Discussions of 2x06, Discussions of Dubious Consent, Discussions of Sexual Coercion, Dissociation, Good Guy Kyle Makes an Appearance, M/M, Negative Mentions of Michael and Maria, Panic Attacks, but I swear there's a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomejerk/pseuds/justsomejerk
Summary: Alex and Forrest's relationship progresses, and Alex decides to open up about his recent experience with Michael and Maria.
Relationships: Forrest Long/Alex Manes
Series: Let Alex Manes Bang the Dorky Pocket-Sized Historian 2k20 (aka Alex + Forrest) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724929
Comments: 26
Kudos: 106





	even if things get heavy, we’ll all float on okay

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Modest Mouse's Float On. Cause even though this veers into heavy topics, Alex and Forrest are gonna be okay. 
> 
> Please note this fic discusses the events of 2x06 and how Alex feels about them. My understanding of these events is that they were non-consensual, and this will be discussed in detail. There are also elements of denial, self-hatred, dissociation, and a panic attack. It should go without saying the portrayal of Michael and Maria in this fic is true to my personal understanding of canon. 
> 
> Please heed the warnings, and take care of yourselves the way Forrest takes care of Alex.
> 
> Thanks to [EmmaArthur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaArthur/pseuds/EmmaArthur) for reviewing this and helping me edit!

Alex stands in the doorway of Forrest’s tiny one-room cottage, tucked away in a remote corner of the Long property. “So this is your place.” 

Forrest gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back to his tiny kitchen lit by large west-facing windows. “You’ve technically already been here, the night you dropped me off.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t come in. I didn’t see all of.. this.” He takes a tentative step inside and lets his eyes roam as Buffy lazily headbutts his ankle. It’s small, and appears to be an old barn only partially restored for full-time living over the course of the five months Forrest has lived in Roswell. For such a small space, he has managed to cram a lot of personality in–a little living area to the right of the front door boasts a cozy old loveseat, a vibrant turquoise rug and a record player. Beyond that, a large wooden desk holds a laptop, typewriter, stacks of books and papers, and some old odds and ends probably connected to his research. Behind a rattan amber-coloured room divider, he can see the end of a mattress jutting out, rumpled navy sheets visible as if Forrest had only just jumped out of bed to welcome him in. 

He's busy making dinner, moving deftly between his small counter space and the open door at the opposite end of the kitchen where he’s got a grill set up – tacos al pastor, Alex concludes from the smell – so he lets his mind drift to how Forrest must spend his time all alone in this cottage. All those date nights left unsatisfied, having to come home, strip down and take care of himself, imagining Alex was there with him. Not knowing he was at home in his bed, doing the same.

He can feel his jeans growing tighter and realizes he needs to get a grip. He quickly takes a few steps further into the cottage, looking to his left and smiling at the shelves lined with jars of pickled vegetables that look suspiciously homemade, the many succulents scattered between them, and bags of fresh herbs with labels written in Forrest’s messy scrawl. “A gay Austin hipster who pickles his own food, grows his own herbs, owns a record player _and_ typewriter, has a senior rescue beagle, and is somehow still really well-liked and respected by his deeply conservative and homophobic family? What kind of unicorn are you?”

“The kind you’re lucky to be dating.” Forrest’s voice is sultry with a hint of amusement as Alex closely examines an old framed Paris is Burning poster hanging above his desk. 

“Is it bad for me to admit I’ve never seen this?” Alex asks. He turns around, hands stuffed in his pockets, and inclines his head towards a Priscilla, Queen of the Desert poster along the far wall, across from the several stools blocking off the small kitchen from the living area. “Haven’t seen that one, either.”

“It _is_ bad, but I can overlook it cause you’re hot. But also because I found a movie projector on one of my antiquing trips with my aunt and I’m _this close_ to figuring out how to make it work again. When I do, I’m planning to start your official education in queer culture with all the classics.”

Alex feels himself smile bright in response. “I can’t wait.” Forrest is busy chopping pineapple to toss on the grill, so he feels comfortable turning away again to look around some more. “Can I put something on?” He points to the pile of LPs scattered across the old trunk standing in as a coffee table and Forrest nods his assent.

Buffy has waddled her way over to the loveseat ahead of him and glances up at him mournfully as he comes closer. He chuckles and bends down, heaving her considerable heft onto the cushions before settling down himself. She nudges her head against his thigh and promptly falls asleep as he browses the scattered collection. He feels content, yet an increasing melancholy sets in the longer he spends poring over the options. Eventually he chooses a Modest Mouse album that was popular back in high school, and sinks back into the cushions as the horns of track one fill the tiny space. He reaches to pet Buffy gently in her sleep, meeting Forrest’s eyes across the room and, at the affectionate smile he receives, Alex feels the warmth that blooms in his chest warring with the way his stomach is twisting into knots. 

He thinks of his own house, the one he rented shortly after learning the truth about Michael’s alien heritage and his plan to build a spaceship to leave the planet. It was pre-furnished, most of the art and furniture coming with the house. He’d only added a couple pieces here and there – some of them housewarming gifts from Maria and Kyle, so they couldn’t even really count towards an effort at creating a space all his own.

And that’s what he’s been missing, isn’t it? The only space he’s made any effort to convert into something resembling a home is his music room. That’s where he’s been writing songs for the first time since high school, where Kyle throws himself onto the couch after long shifts to moan about his problems with Steph. Where he had his long-overdue talk with Maria. 

Forrest has only been here for a few months, and he clearly spared no time throwing himself into creating a comfortable nest for himself, even if it had to be on land soaked in the blood of Michael, Isobel and Max’s ancestors. Not that Forrest knows about that. 

_Yet._ He adds the word without even fully thinking through the implications. It’s only been a few months since they met, but he’s already taken up such an important space in his life that it feels inevitable he will tell him about his family’s legacy. He’ll find a way to avoid mentioning Michael’s role in that legacy if it comes down to that. 

When he shakes himself out of his own thoughts and finds himself distracted by Forrest’s adorable look of concentration as he prepares pico de gallo, the honeyed warmth in his chest wins out over the twisted-up feeling in his stomach. He likes Forrest’s home. He likes Buffy, despite her being ‘an irascible chonk with a multitude of health problems,’ according to Forrest’s own description. He can already see himself spending long afternoons here, writing songs with him in the shade outside. Hell, he could even give in to Forrest’s gentle prodding and sing one of them at an open mic eventually. The way Forrest looks at him sometimes makes Alex feel like he could do something that scary so long as he was beside him.

Eventually he picks himself off the couch and makes his way over to the kitchen to watch Forrest standing in the shade just outside the door, checking on the grill. He crosses his arms and leans his head against a wooden support beam, similar to the one bearing a height chart he and Michael found months back, and watches a lock of Forrest’s teal-coloured hair fall in his face. His first instinct is to lean in close, reach out and tuck it behind his ear for him, but Alex finds himself frozen. Wondering if his demands about going slow with their relationship rules out that sort of intimacy. 

Yet he wants it. He’s so tired of pushing Forrest away just when things are heating up. He has made it clear he has no issue with Alex’s leg, his lack of dating experience, his guardedness. He’s taken everything about Alex in stride and keeps coming back for more. 

Kyle’s voice inside his head interrupts this line of thought. They were having a Parks and Recreation marathon last night, something Kyle insisted they both needed to wind down after a rough few months. After a considerable amount of urging, Alex finally gave in and shared some details about Forrest, including his hesitancy about the physical aspects of their relationship. Kyle’s tipsy jokes about Alex’s sex life dropped away briefly in place of sincere advice: “Falling in love again isn’t a betrayal, Alex. Burying yourself in our family histories and denying this guy the chance to really know you isn’t going to grant you redemption, because you never needed it in the first place. Let this guy in. You both deserve it.”

“You look a million miles away.” It could be an idle comment, though Alex thinks he detects a touch of insecurity in Forrest’s tone. He’s standing across from him now, eyes boring into his, leaning back with hands clutching the counter behind him. Alex wonders how long he’s been staring, analyzing his far-away expression.

Pushing off from the beam, he crosses the few feet between them. “I’m not. I’m right here, with you.” With those words, he happily tugs Forrest closer to him, settling his clasped hands protectively over the small of his back. Forrest leans into him easily, clearly happy to be wherever Alex wants him, and settles his arms over his shoulders. Looking into Forrest’s eyes, he recalls what Kyle did next – threw a pillow at his face and yelled at him about meeting this blue-haired slam poet Guerin hates so much. “I- uh, I was thinking maybe you could meet my friends. Kyle’s been asking about you, and um, it might be nice. You might even like him, despite him being aggressively heterosexual.”

Forrest’s eyes light up at the suggestion. “That would be awesome. Maybe we could get drinks at Planet 7 sometime this week? I keep hearing about it but I haven’t had a chance to check it out.”

“Oh. I have to admit, I’ve been purposefully avoiding that place. I don’t know what to expect from a gay bar just outside the Roswell town limits. But going with friends would help.” Alex pauses with his next thought on the tip of his tongue. Forrest is smiling up at him, his fingers casually playing with the grown-out hair at the nape of his neck, and that small gesture fortifies him enough to continue. “Um, or going with a b-boyfriend. That would be even better.”

As he’d predicted, Forrest is not going to let the B word pass him by without comment, or in this case, delighted mockery. “Boyfriend? Alex Manes, are you telling me I’m your _boyfriend_?”

“Well, not anymore!” A laugh bursting out of him, he tries to squirm away, pulling his arms back, but Forrest quickly wraps his long fingers around Alex’s wrists and backs him up against the wall. “I’m serious, I’m taking it back if you make it a big thing!”

“Oh, but it _is_ a big thing, sweetheart.” Forrest offers a deliciously teasing grin, holding his wrists in place at his sides and keeping them chest-to-chest. “And yes, now that I’m your boyfriend, I get to unleash _all_ the pet names. And I’ve got a long list to test out, babe.”

“You’re the most insufferable person, you know that?”

“Shut up and kiss me, boyfriend of mine.”

And Alex is tired enough of denying himself what he wants, so he does. 

Crossing the invisible line between casual dating to boyfriends breaks down the barriers Alex has been building. Now he finds every excuse to touch Forrest while they put the finishing touches on dinner, almost letting it grow cold when Alex impulsively drags Forrest to sit on the one unused piece of countertop and pulls him into a series of long frantic kisses, rougher than anything they’d indulged in so far. He revels in the moment Forrest’s legs eagerly wrap around his waist, pulling him in tighter and pressing his erection against his abdomen. He finds himself tugging at Forrest’s hair, exposing his throat and licking his way up a cord of muscle, encouraged by the curses Forrest is muttering into his ear.

Eventually, instead of moving to the coffee table, they stay pressed together on the counter and put together their tacos from there. Forrest absentmindedly runs his barefoot up Alex’s thigh while leaning over to fill a tortilla with pork and cilantro. Alex lets himself be hand-fed grilled pineapple between kisses, feeling giddy with the strange new closeness and the feeling that they are worlds away from the complications of their family names, away from whatever alien drama has cropped up lately, all of it. He and Forrest exist in their own bubble where all that matters is all the unexplored parts of each other they get to discover and touch and revel in. 

Alex is swallowing down a bite when he feels something dripping down his chin and reaches for a napkin, but Forrest stills his hand and asks deviously, “Captain, how dare you try to deny me this opportunity?” 

“What opp-?” Before Alex can finish his amused question, Forrest carefully takes his jaw between his fingertips, leans in and makes a show of licking up the pico de gallo with his tongue, finishing with a lingering open-mouthed kiss. Alex laughs into it, cradling Forrest’s face in sticky fingers until he feels a soft nudging at his prosthesis. Still leaning his forehead against Forrest’s, they glance down in unison to see Buffy’s chocolate brown eyes staring up at them, a low whine on her lips. 

“She’s feeling neglected.” Forrest makes a loving face at her. “We should probably move this to the couch to accommodate my woman. Otherwise, she howls.”

“I should probably get off my leg anyway. Come on, Slayer. Let’s get you some cuddles.”

A minute later, they’re on the loveseat, Alex adjusting his leg to get comfortable, while Forrest has lifted Buffy onto the arm of the couch. 

A break from their blissed-out intimacy reminds Alex of the image that has been haunting him since they began dating, always cutting through those moments when Forrest has gotten too close, when Alex has found himself wanting more and stopped himself. Forrest deserves to know what he’s getting into, right? He should know why dating Alex has required the patience and self-control of a saint. He should tell him the truth about why he’s been so reticent about sex. 

Biting his lip, he launches into it. “There’s something I want to tell you. I don’t want it to change how you feel about me, but I, I don’t know. I guess it’s part of why I’ve been so scared about us?” Forrest tilts his head to the side, letting his hand remain resting on Alex’s thigh, and nods for him to continue. “Before our first date, something happened. With Michael.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And Maria.”

“Oh. Oh!” Forrest’s eyes light up with realization. “I’ve dated bi guys before, Alex. It’s not an issue for me at all.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m gay. I just- it had been a crazy night, this guy tried to- well. We were all on edge, and I was injured, and she kissed me. And I didn’t stop her. I mean, I just- I didn’t really say no, so...” He can’t look Forrest in the eye as he stumbles over his words.

He feels Forrest’s eyes heavy on his profile and he shifts, retracting his hand from its place on Alex’s leg to curl up in his own lap. “I don’t want to make assumptions here, but Alex, the way you’re describing it.. Was it consensual?”

Alex snaps his head in his direction, stunned at the implication. Stunned and maybe, deep down, a bit relieved to hear it outloud. “What? Of course. I told you, I didn’t say no. I went along with the whole thing. She said that she just wanted us- she wanted us to feel safe. And I didn’t want- I don’t know, Michael was there and it was just, it was confusing. But she didn’t mean it like that. You know, we kissed as teenagers and it was.. nice. I mean, it was fine. Not like with other girls.”

“Alex. Is it okay if I touch you right now?”

“What? Yes, of course. That’s not- you don’t have to-” He can hear the note of hysteria in his own voice and he hates it. He needs to leave. This isn’t going the way he thought it would. He springs to his feet, scurrying away from the couch. He thought Forrest would finally realize just how much of a mess he is – a gay man who sleeps with his female best friend and his ex as some form of self-flagellation, a punishment for ever thinking he was worthy of the kind of love Michael Guerin willingly gives. Forrest was supposed to see his brokenness and be horrified, repelled.

“That’s not it. Maria wouldn’t- she’s my friend. And Michael- Michael doesn’t know how to say no to the people he cares about. But that’s not, it’s not what you’re saying it is. It’s not _that_.”

Forrest holds up his hands in surrender, keeping himself seated on the couch even though Alex can tell he’s itching to jump up and come close. “Okay! Okay, I get it. I’m not trying to- it just sounds complicated. Like maybe you don’t know how you even feel about it? And that’s okay. Obviously it had a huge impact on you, as it should have. I just- I don’t want to upset you. But I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, so… The thing is, a lack of a no isn’t the same as the presence of a yes. Whatever their intentions, it sounds like you didn’t want this. And I’m so sorry it happened at all, ok? I’m just really sorry, Alex.” 

Alex knows he’s wild-eyed and pacing. He wants to stop, but he can’t. “This is my fault. I did this. I, I participated. I made a choice.”

The heartbreak on Forrest’s face at his words is intolerable. What’s worse is the quiet and controlled “Okay,” he offers in response. He doesn’t know what to do with that. Is Forrest right? Is he remembering it all wrong? 

He doesn’t know how long he spends pacing the living room, from front door to back wall, his mind frantic and his heart pounding. All he knows is, at some point, he is leaning against the far wall, by the bed, desperate to catch his breath, and Forrest is handing him a glass of water. 

“I don’t understand.” The words feel heavy, falling out of his mouth without conscious thought guiding them.

“That’s okay.” He hears Forrest say. “It’s okay, Alex. You’re safe here. No matter what.” There’s a hand at his elbow, warm fingertips pressing into his flesh. It’s the only point of contact he feels.

“I’m tired.” He’s dazed, only half-hearing his own voice.

“Would you like to lay down? The bed is right here, Alex, just to your left.”

He lets himself be guided down to a sitting position. Through the haze, he thinks Forrest is asking him about his prosthesis, if he wants it off. He wants to say yes, but can’t seem to find his voice. He tries to focus on something, anything. Underneath his hands, he thinks he clutches fistfuls of something soft. After a moment focusing on the sensation, he tries to zero in on what Forrest is asking. It’s all so fuzzy. 

But an ache tugs at him through the fog. An ache somewhere beyond his field of vision, somewhere familiar. His stump. This is what it feels like on a bad day.

Forrest is repeating the same sounds vaguely to his left. Alex thinks he nods. He hopes he nods.

When he wakes up, it’s dark out. He’s disoriented and groggy, finding himself under unfamiliar sheets, wearing his green pullover and boxers. Once his eyes have adjusted to the dark, he sees the silhouette of his prosthetic leg propped against the wall by the bed, the liner sock neatly laid over top. He turns over to be faced with Buffy, softly snoring beside him, a paw reaching out and nearly grazing his shoulder. Beyond her, he sees Forrest. He’s on the floor, hunched over his laptop, his face glowing blue, his eyes concerned and tentatively watching Alex as he slowly wakes up. 

After a few moments of silence, Alex offers a weak, “Hey.”

At the sound of his voice, Forrest quickly sets the laptop down on the floor and lifts himself onto his knees, leaning his elbows on the bed. “Hey.” In the dim glow from his laptop, Alex can see his face is pure distress and concern, his voice gentle yet firm. “There’s water on the table beside you if you want it.”

It’s laborious, just pulling himself up and reaching for the glass. But his throat is sandpaper, and the water helps shake off some of the grogginess. 

Still kneeling by the bed, Forrest asks, “Do you want me to turn a light on? Do you want to stay in bed, or-”

“No, no. I mean, yes. Is that okay? I can go home-”

“No, Alex, no. You shouldn’t drive right now.” Forrest reaches an arm out, but stops himself short and buries his fingers in Buffy’s fur instead. “You’re staying the night so I can make sure you’re safe. Or- actually, I could call Kyle. If he’s willing to come get you and take care of you for the night – if you’re not comfortable staying here – that’s okay. Whatever you want, okay?” 

Alex shakes his head, catching up with what Forrest is saying to him. “Kyle? Wha- no. No, if it’s alright, I’ll stay.” He looks down, seeing the outline of Forrest’s hand rubbing at Buffy’s belly, and lays his own on top, squeezing. “I wanna stay.”

He sees the small smile on Forrest’s face as he nods, pulls his hand away and gets to his feet. Alex pulls himself further up until he’s sitting and stretches out an arm to pull Forrest down with him before he realizes he’s turned and is walking towards the front door. His insides feel scraped up and raw, too raw to even cringe at the brittleness in his voice when he croaks out, “Where are you going?”

Forrest pauses. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

“Wha- no. That thing is barely even a couch. Stay with me.”

“I really don’t think-”

“Please. I want you with me right now.” He lets the words hang in the air, never taking his eyes off Forrest, even when the screen of his laptop finally blinks off and all he can make out is shadows and a silhouette. 

Eventually Forrest slowly crosses the darkness to gingerly sit, the mattress dipping under him. He coos at Buffy as he lifts her; she emits soft whines as he places her at the foot of the bed before getting comfortable under the sheets and turning on his side to face Alex. He is close enough that Alex can read his facial features, but keeps his hands to himself, lifting one to rest under his cheek.

“Hi,” Alex ventures into the deep silence between them.

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Empty, tired. Grateful. To you.”

“We don’t have to talk about that right now. We should both just sleep, it’s late.” His tone is careful and a little bit commanding. It pacifies something inside Alex he didn’t know needed pacifying.

“Okay.” Alex’s eyes drift shut. The sounds of Buffy’s snores float to his ears. Soon he hears the soft rustling of Forrest’s fingers brushing over his pillow, closer than they’d been. Keeping his eyes shut, he lifts his own hand to his pillow, spreading his fingers wide. He can feel the warmth of Forrest’s outstretched hand hovering alongside his own.

“I just have one question, if that’s okay.” He waits for the responding murmur before he continues in a whisper, his eyes fluttering open to find Forrest’s open as well. “If you had to describe it – what happened that night, with them – how would you? What would you call it?”

For a brief moment before schooling his features, Forrest appears stricken. When he speaks, he is sorrowful but resolute. 

“I think you were coerced into something you didn’t want by people you love and trust.” 

_Coerced. So that’s the word I’ve been looking for._

“Right.” He speaks it as an afterthought, allowing himself to offer a brief incline of his head against his pillow. He reaches his pinky out and wraps it firmly around Forrest’s thumb. “Goodnight, Forrest.”

“Goodnight, Alex.”

-

He wakes flat on his back. The sun has barely risen, only just enough to fill the room with a soft hazy light, and he is thinking about Forrest’s legs hiked up around his waist, an overwhelming urge to get on his knees and swallow him down. 

Under the sheets, he inconspicuously shifts to take himself in hand, half-hard, and forces himself to breathe steadily in, then out. He steals a glance to his left where Forrest is laying just as he was when he drifted off. He is facing Alex, one hand tucked half-under his ear, and his face is slack, at rest. It stops him in his tracks, how peaceful he looks. Distracted, he lets himself go, pulling both his hands over the sheets to shift onto his side and tentatively reach out and stroke his cheek. Even as he barely touches the rough stubble, he questions if it’s okay to do this while he’s sleeping. As he allows self-doubt to creep in, he keeps his hand hovering above Forrest’s face, not ready to retreat. While doing so, he misses the change in his breathing, so he’s caught off guard when Forrest offers a husky, “Morning,” eyes closed. 

Alex finds himself smiling in spite of himself. “Morning.”

“Mmm. How are you feeling, baby?” 

Alex smiles even wider at the pet name used while Forrest is clearly hovering between sleep and wakefulness, as if he’d already been calling Alex by the name in his head, but held his tongue until now. “I'm feeling the need to finish what we started yesterday. I wanna make you come.”

And with that, Forrest is fully awake, eyes open.

“Uh. Wow. Okay. That’s a lot to take in right now. After last night, I’m not-”

Alex grabs Forrest’s hand in his own and squeezes. “After last night, I feel like I can finally ask for what I want. I’ve been wanting this, wanting _you_ , for weeks.” Forrest’s eyes carefully following his movements, he lowers his face to brush his lips across his knuckles. “I’m really okay. I want this, if you do.”

“Okay. But what if, instead, I make _you_ feel good?”

Alex freezes in that moment, just as he was on the verge of sucking one of Forrest’s fingers into his mouth. “O- oh. Okay.”

Forrest offers a fond smirk and Alex lets him pull away from his grip to instead caress his cheek. He leans in for a long good morning kiss before continuing. “Okay. I’m gonna ask you questions and check in as I go, alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Would you like it if I took off your shirt?”

“Yes, please.”

They both giggle at his response as Forrest throws the sheets back and moves to straddle Alex’s body, pausing to run his fingers down the length of his arms, interlacing their fingers when he reaches his hands. In that moment, crouched over Alex’s thighs, their hands intertwined, Forrest gazes down at him, naked adoration on his face. 

He doesn’t know what to do with it, the reverence. His instinct is to turn away, find a way to hide. Spoil the moment with a snarky aside so they can never go back.

Yet he already knows Forrest wouldn’t let him get away with it. He can already see the way he would place a soft palm under his jaw, and turn his face so gently back towards him. Locking eyes. Urging Alex to see the way he sees him – as someone worthy of that gaze. 

So he stares back. Breathes in, breathes out. Feels the weight of what Forrest feels for him sinking down, pressing into him. 

And as he stares back into his brown eyes, he feels lighter. He smiles, and in the soft morning light, Forrest smiles back.

He does exactly as he promised – he checks in with each touch. Alex thought it might get frustrating or become too much, but it somehow grows sexier each time he murmurs, “Is this okay? Would you like it if I do this?” into his skin, working his way down Alex’s body. His touch is firm, veering into rough only when Alex encourages it. He even finds himself saying something he usually doesn’t in bed – no. Only once or twice, but the power of it is startling. To know he can say no and Forrest will cease what he’s doing without hesitation and ask what he wants instead.

His skin is on fire. It feels like hours may have passed, and Forrest has only just begun nuzzling his inner thighs, his twitching erection still untouched. He feels split open. The sheets have been tossed aside, his legs splayed wide and loose under Forrest’s firm hands. He has one hand raised above his head clutching his pillow, alternating between eyes squeezed shut and open to watch the way Forrest’s back muscles ripple as he works over his body. He keeps a hand resting on the back of Forrest’s neck, acting as a steady presence without pressure.

Forrest takes a moment to press his nose deep into the skin of the junction where his thigh meets his pelvis and breathes in deep. When he mutters low and gravelly, “God, you smell so fucking good,” Alex feels like he’s ascended to some other plain of existence. Like he’s an object of worship. 

No, that’s not right. 

A subject. A _subject_ of worship. 

He can feel the tremble begin in his thighs as Forrest licks long and slow down the crease. 

Later, Forrest is wiping his stomach with a towel with a private smile on his face, all for him, and Alex has another flashback.

Not to that night. He remembers the morning after, outside the Airstream, trying to find the right word to describe what he was feeling. Michael supplied him with the word _loved_. And though he offered agreement in the moment, he knew that wasn’t it. A long time ago, Michael made him feel loved. That’s not what he felt that night.

But he feels it now. 

As Forrest turns to toss away the towel, Alex stretches his leg to nudge his thigh with his toes. His boyfriend turns back with a bright smile, giddy as he crawls his way back up Alex’s naked body.

“Have you been writing any more poetry?”

“Of course. Some has even been inspired by my _boyfriend_.” He emphasizes the last word with amusement and Alex smiles as they shift to lay against one another, skin on skin, limbs entangled.

“Would you recite some for me?” He brushes hair out of Forrest’s eyes and traces a fingertip down his face as he asks.

“Of course, babe.” They share a lovestruck look, and Forrest begins.


End file.
